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A present for mamculuna and redredshoes. It's an email I sent upon first arriving in Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum), Kerala.
You need to know that Kerala, which in 1957 became the world's first place to freely elect a Communist government, has a semi-socialist economy and a thriving Communist Party. You see hammer-and-sickle stencils on walls and posters. In red, natch.
Kalaripayat is an Indian martial art of great antiquity, which some believe was the source art for kung fu. (I haven't come across a more likely candidate, especially considering the amount of trade that was going on between Kerala and China at the time.)
Wednesday, September 5, 2001
If a power failure hadn't occurred right after I went into my hotel room, I could have been easily convinced that Kerala doesn't get them. This city is not like any part of India I've ever been to.
1. I left the airport, and didn't get a taxi until I hailed one. As opposed to being mobbed by a gazillion people trying to get my business.
2. The scenery. Wow. Coconut palms everywhere, some bent almost sideways by the wind. Narrow winding streets. Red-tiled houses. Underground sewers (mostly), making this by far the least stinky Indian city I've ever encountered.
3. When I went into a gift emporium and told one guy trying to sell me something I was only looking, instead of hounding me until I fled, when the person next to him started hounding me, he told her (in Hindi) "She says she's only looking." And they both shrugged and left me alone.
4. Of course there's a catch. Vehicle horns are set here to a uniquely shrill and hideous pitch, like the dying shriek of a coloratura soprano. On the other hand, everything off the main road is remarkably quiet.
It's hot. But not as hot as Delhi. Socialism and sea breezes have a lot to offer.
Tomorrow I'm going to show up at the CVN Kalari (Kerala dojo) at 6:30 am to watch the morning class and try to make contact with Sathyan Narayan, the gurukkul (sensei), who was recommended to me by a former student.
When I was in Delhi I found a book on kalaripayat. I bought it without really looking at it, and when I got back I discovered two things: it was written by a damn post-modernist, and every impenetrable sentence is peppered with words like semiotics and colonial discourses and deconstructionist and so forth, with nary a word on history or technique. Very frustrating, especially given the general lack of English material on the art.
The other thing is this: the cover has a marvelous photo of two ferocious-looking men in loincloths, whacking each other with sticks. One of them is identified as "Sathyan Narayan, CVN Kalari, Thiruvananthapuram."
You need to know that Kerala, which in 1957 became the world's first place to freely elect a Communist government, has a semi-socialist economy and a thriving Communist Party. You see hammer-and-sickle stencils on walls and posters. In red, natch.
Kalaripayat is an Indian martial art of great antiquity, which some believe was the source art for kung fu. (I haven't come across a more likely candidate, especially considering the amount of trade that was going on between Kerala and China at the time.)
Wednesday, September 5, 2001
If a power failure hadn't occurred right after I went into my hotel room, I could have been easily convinced that Kerala doesn't get them. This city is not like any part of India I've ever been to.
1. I left the airport, and didn't get a taxi until I hailed one. As opposed to being mobbed by a gazillion people trying to get my business.
2. The scenery. Wow. Coconut palms everywhere, some bent almost sideways by the wind. Narrow winding streets. Red-tiled houses. Underground sewers (mostly), making this by far the least stinky Indian city I've ever encountered.
3. When I went into a gift emporium and told one guy trying to sell me something I was only looking, instead of hounding me until I fled, when the person next to him started hounding me, he told her (in Hindi) "She says she's only looking." And they both shrugged and left me alone.
4. Of course there's a catch. Vehicle horns are set here to a uniquely shrill and hideous pitch, like the dying shriek of a coloratura soprano. On the other hand, everything off the main road is remarkably quiet.
It's hot. But not as hot as Delhi. Socialism and sea breezes have a lot to offer.
Tomorrow I'm going to show up at the CVN Kalari (Kerala dojo) at 6:30 am to watch the morning class and try to make contact with Sathyan Narayan, the gurukkul (sensei), who was recommended to me by a former student.
When I was in Delhi I found a book on kalaripayat. I bought it without really looking at it, and when I got back I discovered two things: it was written by a damn post-modernist, and every impenetrable sentence is peppered with words like semiotics and colonial discourses and deconstructionist and so forth, with nary a word on history or technique. Very frustrating, especially given the general lack of English material on the art.
The other thing is this: the cover has a marvelous photo of two ferocious-looking men in loincloths, whacking each other with sticks. One of them is identified as "Sathyan Narayan, CVN Kalari, Thiruvananthapuram."